


Five Weddings and a Funeral

by floosilver8



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Rom-Com AU, Sexual Content, Sherlolly - Freeform, Wakes & Funerals, Weddings, mollock, surprise mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 19:53:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1870290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floosilver8/pseuds/floosilver8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A 5&1 fic - sort of. Only loosely inspired by the film <em><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0109831/">Four Weddings and a Funeral</a></em> (1994) in that all action takes place during one of these events.</p><p>It starts with the Warstan canon wedding but goes off the rails after that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. John Hamish Watson & Mary Elizabeth Morstan

**Author's Note:**

> This was just an excuse to picture them all dressed up all the time. POV changes within each chapter, noted by the dashes and hopefully not too confusing.
> 
> HUGE thanks to MagsyB, Hannah and Liathwen for helping me brainstorm via chat, and to everyone to answered my question about gifts on Tumblr.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saturday 18th of May 12pm  
> St. Mary’s Church and the Goldney Hall Orangery, Sutton Hill

“Oh fuckity fuck!” Molly swore as she fell into the wall while trying to rush down the stairs and put on her shoes simultaneously.  Of course she would be late to her friends’ wedding. Of course she would. For some reason the gods had seen fit to put obstacle after obstacle in her way this morning, completely ruining her reputation for being punctual. First it was her alarm being set incorrectly, then the kettle not working at first, then she spilled milk all over the kitchen counter, and finally Toby refused to let her get dressed in peace.

Tom was outside waiting (impatiently) for her. He had already honked the horn three times and was not about to do it a fourth. He loved his fiancé but God, damn it sometimes she drove him to the brink with her predilection for drama. Not being overly fond of bride nor groom, he didn’t even want to go to the stupid wedding. So starting the day off with a sulk was inevitable.

Molly finally made it into the car and barked at him to, “Drive!”

“I will drive when you put your sodding seatbelt on,” Tom snapped back.

“Oh, of course. Safety first,” she replied with sarcasm and distain. This was turning out to be a great morning. At each other’s throats for no reason before 11am. _Great_.

The ride to the church was silent. They had to rush in before Mary ascended the aisle. Tom whispered his dislike for Molly’s chosen pew several times during the ceremony. Molly almost punched him in the stomach twice, but decided to just breathe and ignore his mutterings.

\--                                                             

Sherlock was bloody scared for his speech. The wall was in charge of holding him up at the moment, as he was almost unable to stand from the fear. He tried to remind himself how stupid it was to be nervous but that didn’t make the sensation go away. He should have been used to being the centre of attention. But he still hated it when he’d get a public ceremony when he solved a case. He much preferred the enthusiastic handshakes without the cameras rolling.

Even worse, he had to follow a script today. He had no idea if the audience would like what he’d written. The book giving tips on how to write the speech was full of typing errors and couldn’t be trusted. And if he was honest, his nerves were _a lot_ to do with the fact that he wasn’t well versed in expressing normal human emotions – even if he did feel them, contrary to popular belief and his own delusion.

Just before everyone was to be seated for the meal, Molly passed him in the hall on her way to the loo. She caught his eye and smiled warmly, walking over briefly.

“Fantastic job so far,” she said squeezing his arm. “Don’t be nervous about the speech. You’re fantastic. I mean...you will be...the _speech_ will be.” Her face fell into panic for a moment before she recovered and smiled again.

Sherlock could only gape and nod at her in response. As she walked away something changed a little. His chest was still tight but he momentarily forgot the reason. There wasn’t any time to think about it too much though.

He continued to stew in nerves during the meal, and almost passed out when he was announced. Somehow, after the first round of giggles from the wedding guests he relaxed a bit. Molly smiled encouragingly from her seat at the first table. She looked rather nice in yellow. He didn’t look directly at her but he knew her expression all the same, and that her eyes were fixed on him.

From then on things seemed to go a bit more smoothly. The guests cried and John hugged him, and then he realised a murderer was in their midst and everything just fell into place. He was in his element. It was beautiful chaos that he needed to arrange and make sense of.

\--

Molly registered the change in his speech - the whole room did, to be fair, but only Molly seemed to know why. She was thoroughly on edge as she watched him puzzle it out, only to be brought back by Tom's rude comment.

"He's pissed, isn't he?"

Molly stabbed him in the hand with her fork. She'd had enough of his glib shit for a lifetime - which wasn't a great thought to have, looking back.

\--

Working alongside John would be different, but it wouldn’t stop entirely. That was good to know. Mary was a really great match for him. She was clever, witty and strong. They would make good parents too - now that that was necessary.

Sherlock took a long look around the dance floor, feeling obligated to join in the merriment and not feeling very merry. Janine had claimed that sci-fi enthusiast. Molly was with Tom. There was always Mrs. Hudson, but that just felt too depressing - besides, Lestrade had taken her up on a quick spin. With no further obligations Sherlock left the party and drove home.

\--

Molly searched for him for a while. He wasn't anywhere inside as far as she could tell. Finally she checked the car park and saw the car he’d hired missing. Tom caught up with her there.

“Molly what are you doing out here? Is something wrong?”

“No, just looking for Sherlock I think he's gone home already.” She said pulling her phone out of her bag. “I'll just give him a quick text to be sure.” That's when she realised Tom was breathing awfully heavy and clenching his fists.

“Sherlock. I might have known. It's _always_ him.”

“What? What are you talking about?” Molly said genuinely shocked.

Tom blew up then, unleashing a year's worth of pent-up frustrations about “Sherlock Sodding Holmes”. Molly let him have his peace before slipping the engagement ring off her finger and dropping it at his feet.

Later, Greg Lestrade was kind enough to take her and Mrs. Hudson home.


	2. Kristin Byrnes and Elizabeth Lucas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friday 11th of July 6pm  
> Kenwood House, Hampstead Heath

Molly arrived at the historic stately home exactly 25 minutes before the start of the ceremony. She was solo of course, having thoroughly rid herself of Tom and with no qualms about going by herself to her good friend's wedding.

Elizabeth and Molly had been friends since primary school. At one time they definitely would have said they were Best Friends, but the years away at uni - and then medical training for Molly - took their toll a bit. They each had moved on to new adventures and life experiences, but they kept in touch relatively well.

When Molly broke up with Tom she had already RSVP'd for two. The phone call to update Elizabeth needn't have caused Molly any shame, but she felt a bit embarrassed nonetheless. That is until Elizabeth consoled and commiserated, and ended up saying exactly what Molly needed to hear. “All that matters is that you acted in your own best interest. Hell, I’ve had my own sordid history of relationships gone badly. You might find the right one someday, you might not. There’s no shame in trying and failing.”

So Molly wore her favourite jade dress, sat in the third row of seats, and witnessed the joining of Elizabeth and her partner. Molly began to tear up when they walked back down the aisle hand-in-hand, and desperately searched for a tissue - or anything - to wipe her face before she exited with the throng of other guests.

Suddenly a hand holding a handkerchief appeared in her line of sight. Her gaze followed the hand up to the suited arm, and finally to the familiar (and chiselled) face.

“Sherlock!” She almost shouted. “What are you doing here?”

“Case,” he said plainly. “Mycroft secured my invitation. One of the guests is wanted for a massive fraud. I'm just investigating but I hope to bring them in too.”

“Oh my gosh! Well, it's good to see you.” Molly dabbed at her face a bit and returned the handkerchief.

“And you. That dress...accentuates your features well,” he said clenching his jaw and giving her an obvious once-over.

Molly couldn't help but smile at his forced politeness. It obviously wasn't something he'd usually think, or say, but his act of following convention was nice. “Thank you, Sherlock. You look very nice too.”

He did look nice. Bloody nice. He always did. Of _course_ Molly still had feelings for him, she wasn't afraid to admit it. He wasn't _really_ the reason she and Tom split, but his return to life certainly hadn't helped any.

They walked out of the ceremony room together and made their way to the adjoining large ballroom for the reception.

Elizabeth was notoriously practical and would have considered the most convenient way to do _everything_. Kristin was apparently from a very wealthy family, so could afford to put on a wedding as lavish as this.

Seating was assigned and by some act of God, Molly and Sherlock were placed at the same table.

\--

Molly didn’t need to know that he had changed the place cards earlier. Mr. Lewis Winshaw obviously had no relations at his assigned seat, and would be perfectly happy spending the meal talking to the solicitors and estate agents at table 19. And Molly would be happier spending the meal with someone she knew, rather than the random person the brides hoped she’d hit it off with.

His deductions proved correct a while later when their table all took their seats. The couples introduced themselves – as was polite – but ended up chatting mostly amongst their pairings.

“So, can you tell me who the fraudster is?” Molly asked in between bites of salad.

“Table 12. To the right of the flowers.” Sherlock replied softly.

Molly took a casual glance in the indicated direction. “Ah. Yeah, he looks like a twat.”

Sherlock grinned and continued to ignore his salad.

“Do you know the brides at all?” She asked after a moment.

“I know you and Elizabeth have been friends for 25 years. She met Kristin third year of university where they were both studying philosophy. Kristin is a media consultant but her family is full of doctors, barristers and politicians so they disapprove somewhat - even though she has made a good living for herself. Elizabeth’s family is rather small by comparison, much like your own, and you both suffered significant family losses in your late teens. You already told me it was your father who passed, and looking at the head table, all biological parents and grandparents are accounted for so it must be someone else – someone that she’d still be close to – so, sibling. Odds are 50/50 on whether it was brother or sister who passed, so I’ll just have to guess at brother, as males tend to have higher death rates and a wider range of causes.” He finally stopped to take a breath and look at Molly. “Was I right?”

“Yes."

“Except?” He asked, knowing her tone indicated the desire to correct him.

“Except Elizabeth and I have known each other for only 23 years,” she grinned cheekily.

“Ah. It’s always something.” He frowned at his plate again.

“Oh stop, you were perfect,” she said nudging his arm. He looked over at her in slight amazement. She just kept grinning and didn’t seem to realise their elbows were still touching.

“The mark’s going to the bar, can I get you a drink?” he asked not looking away from her.

“Yes, please. I’ll have a-”

“Gin and tonic,” he finished while standing up.

“Well, yes. Thank you.”

He already knew she wanted to get a bit tipsy this evening. A double G&T would get that underway shortly.

\--

Molly had to take a few calming breaths now that he was gone. It was always surprising how much energy he alighted in her just with his proximity. It was invigorating but also rather exhausting when it was all over.

“So how long have you been together?” The woman to Molly’s right asked after a minute.

“Six years,” Molly responded automatically.

“Oh that’s a rather long time. You still look at each other like it's brand new! Plans for marriage and all that?” Susan ( _That was her name!_ ) smiled.

Molly just blinked at her. At first she couldn’t figure out why Susan would ask that, and then she realised that Susan’s first question was how long they were _together_ , not just _known_ each other, which is what Molly had answered.

“Oh...ummm.” Molly opened and closed her mouth a few times debating whether or not to correct the mistake.

“Don’t bother her about that, hon. They’re probably one of those modern couples who doesn’t believe in marriage.” Susan’s husband Bert leaned in to rescue Molly.

“Oh don’t be silly, of course she wants to get married.” Susan replied haughtily.

Molly just continued to gape and tried to smile casually when she realised her jaw was almost on the floor.

A tall gin and tonic suddenly appeared in her hands. “What did I miss?” Sherlock asked offhandedly, taking his seat again.

"Oh, nothing,” Molly replied automatically, trying to cover up.

“I was just asking your girlfriend how long you’d been together. Six years is such a long time. Will there be a ring on her finger soon?” Susan pried but kept smiling to show her good natured intent.

Sherlock looked at Susan for only a few seconds, but to Molly it felt like an eternity. She was trying to catch his eye, to somehow explain non-verbally but he never looked away from Susan.

“It is, isn’t it?” Sherlock finally said rather slowly. “We’ve been discussing it, haven’t we?” He lightly laid his hand over hers on the table.

Molly’s eyes went wide before she answered, “Umm...well...” But she was rescued from having to come up with anything by the announcement of the start of the speeches. They both turned slightly to face the front, but Sherlock’s hand never left hers. Molly was grateful that her palm was on the table because she could feel the flop sweat collecting in her Proximal palmar crease.

\--

The speeches were decidedly less interesting than at John and Mary’s wedding. However, the addition of Molly’s hand under his made Sherlock somehow very alert. He almost forgot for a moment that he was supposed to be collecting data on Mr. Watkins.

He wasn’t sure why he went along with the woman’s assumption of a relationship with Molly. Maybe it was the way the woman was being so nosey, or the way Molly held her breath before he answered. He knew Molly wouldn’t have intentionally implied a relationship, but the woman likely wasn’t going to let it go if he hadn’t said something. It absolutely meant nothing. And the hand holding meant nothing too. And Mr. Watkins was leaving the room. _Shit_.

Sherlock stood very suddenly, almost knocking into the table. His table mates all stared at him – which he usually wouldn’t have noticed – but Molly made a soft gasp which echoed in his ears and drew his eyes down to hers.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “Just need...to call my friend, George.”

“Who?” Molly whispered back.

“Lestrade,” Sherlock said pointedly.

“Oh! Right! Good luck.”

He nodded and walked in the direction of Mr. Watkins’ retreating form. Along the way he took out his phone and sent a quick text to Lestrade who already had men waiting. Of course Sherlock had had enough information to bring the fraud in days ago. But he also secretly liked weddings and was hoping his dancing skills may come into play for once.

As it turned out, the apprehending of Mr. Watkins was uneventful. Upon exiting the men’s room he went along very quietly with the uniformed officers. The whole ordeal only took 10 minutes.

With the speeches still in progress, Sherlock didn’t want to be rude and walk through the reception room yet again, so he just stood in the doorway. He scanned the room, looking for other nefarious individuals – and with a horde of minor politicians and opportunistic businessmen it wasn’t difficult – but ultimately his attention landed on the one familiar face in the crowd.

Molly looked rather beautiful in her jade dress. She had a cardigan in the same exact shade, but she wasn’t using it on a warm night like tonight. Her hair was done up in a high and tight bun that displayed her slender neck elegantly. Her fascinator was nothing too ostentatious, just a few springs of white feathers casually cascading down one side the knot of hair.

It was all a rather fetching sight. One Sherlock may never have noticed if he hadn’t “died” and gone through a whole mess of emotional awakening. Caring wasn’t necessarily an advantage, but he had to now admit it certainly wasn’t a disadvantage either. It made him pay more attention to the needs of those he cared for, but it hadn’t dulled any of his skills in the slightest.

He watched Molly try with all her might to pay attention to the Best Man’s speech that was rattling on much too long. Kristin's brother was deadly dull. She blinked slowly and took a deep breath, and bit the inside of her cheek. Then she moved on to looking at her hands now resting in her lap. She stretched out the fingers of her left hand and stared at it for a few seconds before taking another deep breath. Sherlock’s pulse raced inexplicably with her movements. And when she looked over in his direction, finally catching his eye, his breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t explain any of his body’s reactions but he gave her a soft smile regardless. She smiled back and Sherlock got the sudden urge to run. So he turned on his heel and left the estate.

\--

Molly remained at her seat, watching him walk away. She just knew that Sherlock wasn’t coming back. She had seen the uniformed officers pass by the door a few moments ago and the fraudster hadn’t returned to his table. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together. The case was over, so Sherlock didn’t need to be here anymore.

A moment later her phone buzzed in her handbag. The quick text from Sherlock confirmed what she had already suspected.

_“Case closed. Enjoy the wedding. –SH”_

However, his second text required further explanation.

_“Lewis Winshaw. Table 19. –SH”_

_“What did he do? – Mx”_

_“Nothing dubious. Elizabeth intends for you to meet him. Good night, Molly. – SH”_

Molly gaped at her phone for a second before replying a simple “Good night” and put it away. Susan eyed her thoughtfully and Molly just smiled back. The reception meal and speeches ended eventually, and she noted with an internal smile that they were thankfully not as lively as the last wedding she had attended.

Elizabeth did try to introduce Molly to Lewis, but nothing of note happened. There were no sparks and no shortness of breath. He was of medium height with straight blond hair, and just not that interesting.

Instead, Molly danced with her friend and drank alone at the bar before deciding to call it a night. However, before she was able to congratulate Elizabeth and Kristin and bow out, Elizabeth tossed her bouquet. Molly wasn't even paying attention to the scene and the flowers almost hit her ungracefully in the face. Somehow her reflexes worked instinctively and she artfully caught it instead. She smiled to herself, amused by what she presumed to be one of life's cruel little jokes.


	3. Charles Grant and Carrie Hooper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saturday, 20th of September 2pm  
> St. Anne's Anglican Church, Soho and The Living Room restaurant, Carnaby

Carrie was born when Molly was five-years-old. Getting a little sister wasn’t a terrible ordeal for Molly, who was thoroughly in the “I’m Not a Baby Anymore/I Can Do This on My Own” stage at the time. So she looked after Carrie when required, but they weren’t terribly close.

Mum had to look after the baby more so by default Molly and her dad were always together. And through the years she did feel more attached to their dad, and Carrie felt more attached to their mum. But they were both devastated when dad died nine years ago. The whole ordeal did bring the sisters a bit closer after having drifted apart while finding their way into adulthood. So when Carrie and Charles suddenly announced their engagement Molly felt more happy than just obligated to attend the wedding.

However, there was a sense of dread at the same time. While for Elizabeth and Kristin’s wedding Molly was perfectly content to go solo, somehow the threat of family members asking questions about her change in relationship status made the whole thing quite daunting. It had been months but she was sure to still be the freshest family gossip.

Carrie already knew that _of course_ Molly would be there as she’d agreed to be Maid of Honour. However, what wasn’t clear was whether or not Molly would be bringing a date. Carrie had some weird obsession with making the head tables even, and insisted Molly find someone as soon as humanly possible. The phrase, “You don’t have to fuck them, you just have to sit next to them,” may have been shouted in the middle of a dress fitting.

\----

A week later, Sherlock snooped around her office and came across the wedding invitation and RSVP card. The requested date for RSVPs just so happened to have passed a few days before, and the card was still unmarked. Molly walked in on him a moment later.

“Sherlock, what are you doing?” she asked, not startled to find him there, just appropriately offended by how he was brazenly rifling through her desk drawer.

“Looking for the file on Ms. Brimley,” he replied nonchalantly. “Are you not going to your own sister’s wedding? I mean I hate Mycroft but if he ever hooked a goldfish I think familial obligation would win out.”

“Oh, um. Yes, of course I am. ...I just was hoping to have wrangled up a date by now.” She could feel the flush of embarrassment burning her cheeks.

“Why do you need a date? You went to your friend’s wedding alone. How is this one differ-...Oh! Oh.” He said realising her predicament.

“Yeah. _Family_. You know how it is," she said rolling her eyes.

“Indeed,” he flipped the card over in his hand a few times. “I’ll go with you,” he said suddenly.

“What!? Ha, ha Sherlock, funny joke,” she frowned and reached for the card which he moved away.

“I’m not joking,” he said rather seriously and began rummaging around in her drawer again, this time for a biro. “There. I’ve already marked us down for the pasta and the beef.”

She eyed him for a moment. “Sherlock, you really don’t have to. You're going to be bored and want to leave immediately. I’m the Maid of Honour so I’ll be fairly busy helping Carrie and...um...doing whatever it is she needs.”

"A date was her idea, wasn't it?" He asked plainly.

"Uhhh well, yes,” she admitted reluctantly.

“And she has a coordinator who is reporting to your mother, is that true?”

“Yes, but still, that's...I mean...you really shouldn't feel obligated. We're not...you don't...”

“Stop spluttering Molly. I'm only offering to go because I know the head chef.”

She took a breath and narrowed her eyes at him, “Shelves or murder charge?”

“Larceny, for his brother. Though they were both originally implicated. He's rather excellent - as a chef, not as a criminal. When I choose to eat I like to do it well. Besides, John and Mary have something called a Baby Moon planned for that weekend. I won't have anyone else to annoy.”

“Uh-huh, nice as that is, I still can’t-”

“I insist, Molly,” he said firmly. She stared at him for a long moment but didn’t protest any further.

\----

So that’s how Molly and Sherlock ended up at yet another wedding.

Molly stood in her sister’s front garden fidgeting with her emerald green dress and shifting from foot to foot. She was nervous enough about spending the whole day with Sherlock looking devastating in his best black suit and thin black tie with a crisp white shirt. Pretending to be a couple was bound to undo her sanity. “We need to corroborate our stories, what if we get asked separately?” she said with mild panic.

“Oh, Molly do stop fretting. You improvised well enough with that nosey woman at your friend’s wedding.”

“That was an accident! I misheard her question,” she corrected.

“Just tell the truth, we haven't been dating very long but we’ve known each other for six years,” he said casually.

“Ok, but obviously that’s not all tru-“

“Molly! Get in here!” Carrie shouted across the garden. “I need help with my dress and mum is driving me mad.” Carrie had thrown the door open and was frantically waving them inside.

“Oh, bloody hell,” Molly whispered under her breath and Sherlock chortled lightly next to her. Apparently he also took great pleasure in her misery.

\--

Sherlock lounged in Carrie’s sitting room, admiring the vast collection of knitting magazines on her coffee table. Molly had promised they wouldn’t be long at the house, simply had to get Carrie dressed and into the hired vintage Bentley. They would follow behind in a cab.

And true to her word Molly, Carrie, and their mother emerged fully dressed and ready in just over seven minutes. Sherlock stood - out of social convention - and gave a stiff, “You look very nice,” to the bride.

While Molly stepped into the kitchen to grab their bouquets, Mrs. Hooper thrust a camera into his hands, ordering him to take a quick photo of the three women. Molly gave him a very apologetic look when she returned and he performed his singular duty without a negative word.

They all filed into the waiting cars shortly after, Carrie and Mrs. Hooper in the Bentley, Sherlock and Molly in the taxi. The drive to the church wasn’t terribly long, and Molly immediately thanked Sherlock again for volunteering to do this, and reassured him that he didn’t have to.

He gave her a quick half-smile in return and focused his attention out of the window. They pulled up to St. Anne’s a short while later and he reached for his wallet to pay the fare. Molly stopped him with a hand on his arm. She had already fished notes out of her small clutch and pressed them into the cabbie’s palm.

“Molly, I-” he started to protest, but she interrupted him again.

“No, no. You're doing too much already.” She said and swiftly exited.

Sherlock followed and watched as Molly helped arrange her sister on the front steps. The photographer buzzed around taking pictures from all angles and Sherlock couldn’t help but deduce him - just to be sure he wasn’t homicidal. He wanted no repeats of the Watson wedding when Molly was on duty.

Satisfied that everything was above board, he caught Molly’s eye and she nodded at him to go ahead. He sat in one of the last rows and watched thoughtfully as Molly entered on cue. Any other wedding ceremony and he may have been bored to tears – he had been purposefully late to the one where he caught the fraudster. Somehow, watching Molly react to her sister’s nuptials was thoroughly entertaining. She had a rather expressive face, and her hair was again swept up and showing off her neck rather fetchingly. Before he had time to think much about it, the ceremony was over and Molly was focused on him as she descended the aisle behind her sister. Her arm was linked with the Best Man’s and Sherlock was sure he felt jealousy before noticing the wedding ring on the man’s finger, and realised it was the customary posture.

As Molly walked over to Sherlock, he offered up his handkerchief automatically. She wasn’t crying that much, but there were a few tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. She smiled and dabbed at her face. She made to return it but he declined saying she’d probably need it again before the day was over.

He offered his own arm as they exited the church together, hailed a cab quickly, and held on to her hand as she entered. The restaurant holding the reception was fairly nearby and their cab ride was rather brief. Molly fumbled with her bag and wasn’t fast enough to stop Sherlock from paying first - though she protested firmly.

“Sherlock you don’t have to do that! It’s my fault you’re here.”

“Your fault?" He replied, offering her a hand again to exit the car. “I believe I volunteered.”

“Yes, but...you _really_ shouldn’t have...I can’t believe you’ve stayed _this_ long. I fully expect you to bolt at any moment and I wouldn’t blame you at all.”

“Trouble in paradise?” A voice from over his shoulder asked.

They both whirled around. Sherlock didn’t recognise the woman, but he knew automatically that she was Molly’s relation of some sort.

“Aunt Agatha! So good to see you. This is Sherlock.”

“Your new boyfriend?” She asked with a sharp sideways look at him.

“Yes!” He replied rather jovially and extended his right hand, not letting go of Molly with his left.

“Uh-huh, well she likes to chase the boys away, so I hope you can handle her.”

“Indeed,” he nodded as she walked away.

“Well, one down,” Molly said with a long exhale of relief.

Sherlock strengthened his hold on her hand and led her inside. They had to stop five additional times to be introduced, each of her family members shooting looks at him, and using knowing tones of voice. Molly had started off nervous and by the end was actually shaking. Sherlock never let go of her and pulled her aside as soon as they were free from the crowd.

“You need to relax, Molly. It’s basically over but you need to remain conscious to enjoy the meal," he whispered. She responded by nodding and taking deep breaths. “If you want me to deduce anyone to their face just say the word. I have a lot of ammunition at present.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She had to smile at his offer but it didn’t last, and she was soon frowning again. “This feels wrong. I’m lying to my whole family just so I don’t have to explain why Tom and I didn’t get married.”

“Would you rather I left?”

“No, of course not. It’s really lovely of you to do this. It’s _way_ beyond...I mean, you already...when you came back...you don’t _owe_ me...if there’s something _you_ need in return...it’s just-” she rambled.

“Molly do you ever finish your sentences?”

“Not often, no.”

Satisfied that she was no longer trembling, he led them to the bar immediately ordering drinks without consulting her. Of course, he knew exactly what she felt like drinking - white wine, so she could sip it slowly.

Before long the hall had filled up with guests and the reception was underway. During the meal, Sherlock passed the time whispering deductions in Molly’s ear. Her Aunt Agatha had lied about quitting smoking and had already snuck outside twice for a quick fag. Uncle James was cheating on his diet. Cousin Keith failed out of university but was lying to his mother by still pretending to go to courses. Cousin Siobhan was keeping ferrets against her landlord’s wishes. And Aunt Jessica was leaving hate-filled anonymous notes in her neighbour’s letterbox over their barking dog. It was all rather pathetic, but enough to make Molly feel more relaxed.

The Best Man’s speech was supposed to be funny, but fell rather flat. Molly’s speech was shorter, sweeter, and made the otherwise stoic Mrs. Hooper cry uncontrollably for a few minutes. Sherlock patted Molly’s hand when she sat back down.

“Not as action-packed as yours I’m afraid,” she joked, wrinkling her nose and dabbing at her eyes with his handkerchief again.

Sherlock released a breathy laugh in response. “It was a high bar.”

They both grinned at each other for a moment before Molly turned back to her food.

\--

Molly finished her meal rather slowly - partially worried she’d spill something on her dress, mostly because Sherlock kept casually touching her with their close proximity. She and Sherlock stayed seated when Carrie and her new husband Charles got up to do walk around the room and greet their guests.

A few more of Molly’s relatives actually approached her at this point to exchange pleasantries and jabs at her romantic life. Molly put on a smile through each ordeal and expertly swallowed her contempt for them.

“I’m rather disappointed there’s no murder to solve tonight.” Molly said when they were finally left alone again. “If nothing else, it might mean one less nosey and condescending relative.”

“The night's still young. I could arrange one, if you want,” Sherlock said much too seriously for Molly’s liking.

“Thank you, but I’d rather not be an accessory, come to think of it.”

“Pity.”

After a few minutes the bride and groom stepped onto the dance floor for their first dance. It was slow and charming, as expected. Carrie would never be one of those to spring for something choreographed. It was soon over and other couples joined them on the floor. After a few songs, Carrie and Charles broke away back to the table.

She squeezed Molly’s shoulder and said, “I swear if one more person tells me I’m now ‘Carrie Grant -you know, like the _actor_!’ I’m going to punch them in the face with my ring hand.” She downed her glass of champagne in one and set it back on the table hard. “Come, husband. Let’s dance some more before we’re too tired to move. Join us, you two!” She grabbed her new husband’s hand and shimmied away quickly.

Molly didn’t expect Sherlock to grab her hand and pull her out onto the floor. He hadn’t danced at either of the other two weddings. It was all a bit extraordinary, especially because he was such a good partner. He spun her around skilfully and smiled warmly at her, pulling her closer while they glided across the floor.

“I had no idea you danced!” she said after a moment.

“But of course,” he said casually. “You never know when it might be required for a case.”

“I see.” She looked away self-conscious about her own moves, and what she was about to ask. “Sherlock, why did you leave John and Mary’s wedding early?”

\--

He set his jaw and looked at a point in space above her head. He knew exactly why he left, but saying it out loud would be ridiculous. Swallowing hard, he debated his next move for a moment.

She looked at him briefly and apparently decided not to push it, looking around the room again instead. “Never mind.”

They swayed together a while longer, his heart beating faster and faster the more he thought about that night. She had noticed him missing, of course she had. And it mattered to her enough to ask about it several months later. But of course, she had always been there for him. And he had always appreciated her for it. And he volunteered to accompany her to this wedding for more than just the food.

“What if you weren’t lying?” He asked through a thick lump that had suddenly formed in his throat.

“Lying about what?” she asked distractedly, still looking elsewhere.

“About...us.”                                                      

Molly stopped in her tracks and looked up at him, “What do you mean?”

He licked his lips before answering, “Well, we’ve known each other for a while now, and we get along rather well, I think. I’m reliably informed that you find my appearance to your liking. Generally, don’t _normal_ people begin dating at some point?”

“But you don’t...you’ve never...” She shook her head in shock, trying to make sense of what he was saying.

“Full sentences, Molly.” He pulled her back into his chest and they fell into step with the music again.

“You don’t like me though.” She blurted out into his shoulder.

“Of course I do. I like very few people, you happen to be one.”

“But not...like _that_.”

“Just because I don’t express the sentiment doesn’t mean I don’t experience it.”

She had to take a few breaths before she could form words. “And you’re saying...you experience it...for me?”

He pulled back slightly to look at her, but kept leading her through the other dancing couples. His eyes were very dilated, but it was also fairly dim in the hall. He brought their joined hands in and laid her hand on his chest, over his heart. Molly could feel it beating much too fast for their now-lazy swaying. She looked down at her hand and back up to his face several times. Before she could speak, his phone vibrated quite forcefully against her thigh. It made her blush and him to curse.

\--

He retrieved the phone and swiped at the screen one handed, the other still resting on the small of her back. “It’s Lestrade. There’s been a murder. Some high-ranking official,” he explained.

“Oh, dear,” Molly gasped. He looked at her guiltily and back at his phone a few times, which made her laugh. “Sherlock Holmes will you ever stay for the whole of a wedding?”

The corner of his mouth curled into half a smile, “Maybe one day.”

“You should go,” she made to take a step back but he held her in place.

“Your mother and aunt are watching,” he said in a low whisper.

Molly looked casually around and confirmed they were in fact being watched. “It’s ok. I’ll make your excuses. They know what you do is important.”

He studied her face for a moment and furrowed his brow slightly. “Thank you, Molly. I promise I’ll stay for the whole of the next one.”

“I'm holding you to that.” Her heart was in her throat as he leant down. She panicked for a moment that he was really going to kiss her, but at the last second he diverted to her cheek. Still, his lips were soft and warm, and he lingered longer than was necessary. She didn’t get to say anything further as he walked away rather quickly. He was forever doing that.

 

The rest of the reception was lovely. Molly did have to explain his absence to a few who asked, but felt no embarrassment as her mind still reeled from what he’d said.

That evening before she went to bed, she emptied out her handbag to return the important contents to her everyday work bag. It was then that she noticed she still had Sherlock’s handkerchief. She smiled to herself and rubbed it between her fingers for a moment, thinking about how he’d been acting.

Was it actually possible he was interested in a romantic relationship with her? He seemed so serious at the time, but he also left rather abruptly. She hardly got to sleep that night.


	4. Philip Anderson and Benjamina Porter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friday, 7th of November 2014  
> Home House, Portman Square

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This was actually the nick-name given to the character Anderson is with during HLV.

When Sherlock “died” a massive amount of guilt fell over Philip Anderson. Sure, Sherlock had been an annoying prick, but Philip had been just as rude in return - possibly even instigated a few times. He also may have had a huge hand in getting Sherlock accused of crimes which it later transpired he obviously hadn’t committed.

During Sherlock’s absence, Philip never fully believed he was dead. Or rather, he couldn’t _let_ himself believe it because that would mean he’d never get to apologise, or work another case with him. So Philip ended up finding like-minded people who believed Sherlock Holmes was still out there, and was still a genius detective.

That’s how Philip and Benjamina (Benji) met. She had followed all of Sherlock’s cases in the papers, and even enrolled in criminology courses in hopes of one day becoming a detective herself. She found out about Philip’s club The Empty Hearse through a classmate. Discussions in their meetings turned into discussions over coffee, turned into dinner dates, turned into a relationship.

Benji was fully aware that Philip had been married previously and that it had ended when he cheated. Somehow, he seemed haunted by the experience and not one to repeat it. So when he got down on one knee and proposed in front of 23-24 Leinster Gardens she said yes.

\----

Molly had stopped by 221B to drop off a bag of toes for Sherlock’s latest experiment. He had almost everything set-up when she arrived. They hadn’t actually spoken since Carrie’s wedding. The MP’s murder was a big case which took up a lot of his time, and then the follow-up press was a bit overwhelming for several weeks. He wasn’t sure how to bring it up again, and certainly didn’t want to in front of other people. 

John sat and answered emails in “his” chair, hoping to find a dangerous case for a change. Mrs. Hudson brought up the day’s post a short while later, it was all rather domestic. John eventually put his computer away and stood to sort through the post. He chatted idly with Molly as he did so. Sherlock saw him hold up the lavender envelope out of the corner of his eye.

“Philip Anderson is sending you something, Sherlock. Should we check it for anthrax?”

“Oh my God!” Molly gasped in surprise.

Both Sherlock and John whipped their heads around to look at her. “I was kidding, Molly. I’m sure it’s fine,” John said reassuringly.

“No, it’s not that...I just...know what that is,” she cringed.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her, “What is it?”

“Um, nothing really...You should open it.” She tried to plaster on a smile but it was obviously false.

Sherlock stood and took the envelope from John, while keeping a watchful eye on Molly. He examined the outside first, looking for traces of anything untoward. Finding nothing, he finally said, “It’s just a wedding invitation, what’s so...oh. Oh, God.” He dropped the envelope like he’d been burned. Suddenly his promise to stay for the whole of the next wedding they attended came flooding into his mind. He looked at her with wide eyes, “No. No, I take it back! Please, Molly! This is ...evil!”

“What the hell is going on?” John asked furrowing his brow. “Anderson’s getting married again, so what? _You’re_ obviously not going to go. Not only do you hate him, but you hate social gatherings just as much."

Sherlock scrunched up his face, not wanting to correct his friend and admit to anything like being a “normal” person.

“You’re not going...you’re not...” John looked between Sherlock and Molly. Molly was obviously trying not to smile, she was worrying her lips between her teeth and her eyes were fixed on Sherlock. “I’m missing something here.”

Molly glanced at John quickly, “Um, well, Sherlock sort of promised...that is to say, he agreed to...”

“I have to go to Anderson’s wedding and I have to stay the whole time,” Sherlock said brusquely, picking up the envelope again and violently ripping it open. 

“Why do you _have_ to?” John asked.

“I promised Molly when we were at her sister’s wedding.” He said casually, pretending to study the invitation. This line of questioning was bound to go somewhere he wasn’t sure he was ready for, but he had to answer truthfully.

“You went to Molly's sister's wedding?!?!” John’s eyebrows were knitted together hard in confusion.

“Yes, John. That is what I just said. Unfortunately, I was forced to leave early and take care of the Thompson murder.”

“The Thomps- oh! That’s why you were wearing a suit and tie in the Times’ photo!”

“Quite. And I promised Molly I would stay until the ‘end’ of the next one we went to.” Sherlock locked eyes with Molly, trying to figure out what she was thinking. He hadn’t expected the next wedding to come up so quickly - or to be held to the promise, really. He loved the idea of attending another event with her, even if he had to sit through the boring ceremony to get to the dancing bit at the end. But this was too much.

“Oh. ...But _why_ did you go to Molly's sisters' wedding again?”

“He was doing me a favour.” Molly finally interjected, breaking her brief staring contest with Sherlock.

“Wow. What do you owe _him_ now? Or do I not want to know?” John raised an eyebrow. “It’s a full corpse for some disgusting experiment, isn’t it?”

“She doesn’t _owe_ me anything. I was happy to do it. I quite like weddings as it turns out. Your wedding was just the beginning.” Sherlock said stiffly, challenging John to be contradictory.

“Well, bloody hell.” John exhaled loudly and blinked at the ground in disbelief. “So now you have to go _and stay_ for all of Anderson’s because he was next in the queue?”

“Unfortunately.”

Molly let out a small laugh, “Stop panicking, Sherlock. You only have to stay as long as I do. My invitation arrived yesterday, that’s how I knew what it was.”

Sherlock visibly relaxed a bit, “Thank you, Molly.”

“But you’re not allowed to pull any pranks, like making me ill or having someone ring me to say my flat is on fire.”

“I would never-” Sherlock started to protest but she glared at him, so he just nodded and sighed, “Fine.”

\----

John and Mary also received an invitation to the wedding, and they all decided they would meet up at Baker Street and walk to the venue together. Well, Molly and Mary decided, John and Sherlock were just informed of the plan later.

Mary and John were the first to arrive at 221B. Sherlock was still only half dressed, debating which shirt to go with his charcoal grey suit. He was inexplicably nervous for a wedding in which he had no investment. Except, that wasn’t really true. There was exactly one reason why he was nervous, and he knew it.

He finally decided on the white shirt, but now was the matter of the tie. He hated ties. Never wore them, but he had quite the selection to choose from thanks to unimaginative clients who felt the need to give gifts.

At some point while he was just staring at his tie selection, Molly arrived. John and Mary greeted her in the kitchen, and his pulse raced when he heard her bright voice respond. He turned on his heel, padding down the hall to greet her, as was polite, and recruit John for tie advice. But when his eyes found her he forgot how to breathe and stopped walking mid-stride. She saw, of course, and smiled warmly.

She was in the middle of taking off her coat. Her hair was parted to one side and flowing in soft curls down her back. She was wearing a dress similar to the one from that awful Christmas before his “death.” This one was navy blue and had a soft shimmer to the fabric. It hugged her body in all the right places, and the height of the heel on her shoes accentuated her posture into an even more alluring pose. The combined aesthetic sent a shiver down his spine and rushed blood to his groin.

“Hi,” she finally said.

“Hhhhh-I need to pick a tie.” After failing to give a proper greeting he shook his head to clear it and concentrated on the linoleum.

“Do you want help?” she asked slowly.

“Yes, please.” He stepped to the side to allow her access to pass.

John and Mary watched the whole exchange with wide eyes. Sherlock caught them sharing a shrug as he and Molly walked back into his bedroom. He knew that of course, “normal” people would read too much into things, but at this point he couldn’t deny they weren’t correct in their reading.

He actually hadn't meant to invite her into his bedroom, but he wasn’t displeased to have her there. Molly stood in front of his wardrobe, looking thoughtfully at his collection of ties. She thumbed a few gently, pursing her ruby red lips and tutting occasionally. She selected four from the rack, holding each up to his chest in turn. She discarded two and held up the finalists.

“Classic black with a subtle stripe, or bit preppy with solid navy?”

Whether she had purposefully or inadvertently matched the navy tie to her dress, he couldn’t be sure. But he knew that it was the winner as soon as he made the connection. He took the silk tie from her hand and began to fasten it as she put the others back. She turned and watched him work for only a second before looking down at the floor and exiting his room quite quickly. The kitchen filled with chatter again shortly after.

He was soon ready to go and joined the others to indicate as much. He took in Molly’s appearance again for his own personal torment.

“You’re not going to last very long in those shoes,” he said, cocking an eyebrow.

She smiled back warmly, “Joke’s on you. I have fold-up ballet flats in my bag.”

That made him scowl. Why did she have to be smart _and_ well-prepared?

The barely 1km walk to Home House was uneventful, and the group made it in plenty of time. Philip was milling around the back of the room fidgeting rather nervously. When he caught sight of the Watsons, Molly, and Sherlock entering, he made a bee-line for them. 

“You’re really here!” he exclaimed, while staring at Sherlock.

“It would appear so.” Sherlock shot back rather icily.

“Thank you.” Philip looked as though he might hug him or cry. Thankfully neither transpired and the ceremony began shortly afterward.

Sherlock sat between Molly and John, doing deductions on the other guests based only on the backs of their heads, in order to keep calm and not fidget. Occasionally Molly’s elbow would brush his arm when she shifted, causing him to twitch and glance at her. At which point he’d register her shapely legs again and would have to snap himself back before getting too distracted.

The ceremony was probably nice - not that Sherlock caught a word of it - and over fairly quickly. He tried to calculate just how much longer he had until he could take Molly home. Because that was his only end goal at this point, getting out of here and talking to Molly alone.

\--

Molly and Mary chatted through the whole of the reception dinner, mostly about how Mary’s pregnancy was going. She’d had rather a bad time with morning sickness for a bit, but it had thankfully abided a few weeks ago.

Even sitting down, Molly’s feet were beginning to protest her shoe choice. The short walk to the venue was not as easy as she had hoped in brand new shoes. She secretly wondered how long before it was considered acceptable to change them. Certainly once the dancing started, surely. She wiggled her feet under the table to try to shake away the discomfort.

Mary was still regaling tales of the horror stories other parents felt comfortable sharing with her now that she was obviously showing, when Molly felt a hand on her knee making her freeze in place. She turned her head only slightly to look at Sherlock. But he wasn’t returning the gaze. She took a slow breath and tried to concentrate on Mary’s story. The hand disappeared when the bride and groom rose to take a turn around the room.

Philip and Benji apparently decided against having speeches. Evidently there was too much risk of someone saying something unpleasant. So instead they went right into the cake cutting and dancing.

John rose as soon as was acceptable and offered his hand to Mary, whisking her onto the dance floor as well as she could manage. Sherlock scowled slightly and surreptitiously looked at his watch. Molly of course saw and rolled her eyes. Sherlock continued to look around the room in disdain. She took a deep breath before leaning over to him, “You don’t have to stay, Sherlock. I’m not your girlfriend _or_ your mother. I have no control over you.”

Sherlock huffed out a breathy laugh, not looking at her. “Yes, you do.”

“What?”

He took so long to look at her and respond, Molly thought for a second that he was going to ignore her. “You always have, Molly. Always,” he said finally. His face looked so soft and open but he looked away quickly and began twiddling with the stem of his wine glass.

“What are you talking about?” She turned in her seat to better face him. He was silent again, though his jaw twitched and his attentions on his wine glass became more forceful. Molly stopped him breaking it by laying her hand over his.

“No one else keeps me in my place like you do.” He finally blurted out. Then he closed his eyes and sighed. It seemed to calm and soften him a bit, allowing him to continue. “You have to know that...you make me want to be...different...better somehow. You hold me in such high esteem and I’m not worthy of any of it. You are much too good for me, Molly but I _am_ trying to rise to your level. I can only hope...you’ll still want me by the time that happens.”

“Sherlock...I...how can you say that? Of course I will always want you.” Her heart pounded in her chest, not fully believing that this was actually happening, waiting for him at any moment to take it back, or do something horrible.

He finally looked at her again, “Really?”

“Yes, really. I can’t believe you would think otherwise. After all we’ve been through.”

He nodded thoughtfully, “I don’t deserve to be with you...but I can’t be without you.”  He turned his hand over and threaded his fingers through hers, rubbing his thumb gently along the back of her hand. It sent a shiver down her spine and she finally noticed how dark his eyes had turned.

“Sherlock?” she said thickly, realising she was now staring at his mouth.

“Yes?”

“I’d like to leave now,” it was barely above a whisper.

“Ok,” he stared at her expectantly.

“Will you join me?”

“Yes, please.”

They had pushed away from the table in a flash, and practically ran out of the room, Molly clutching her bag in her free hand. Sherlock almost ripped their coats out of the attendant’s hands and wrapped Molly up in hers all wrong. She giggled and righted it herself as they fled into the cold night air.

“Um, cab?” He said suddenly not sure of what to do once they were outside.

“It’s barely six blocks!” She grinned and grabbed his hand, threading their fingers together again.

“Right. Of course.” He furrowed his brow and frowned.

“Sod it, that’s too long. TAXI!” she shouted and waved at the conveniently approaching cab.

He grinned and held the door open for her when it stopped at the kerb. The driver wasn’t thrilled to be going such a short distance, but when Sherlock pressed a £50 note into his hand he stopped protesting and drove on.

 --

Sherlock sat back and wrapped his arm around Molly, drawing her closer. They smiled at each other for a moment before he couldn’t take it anymore and leaned down to capture her lips with his own. The feel of her was absolute heaven.

She tangled her fingers in his hair after a moment, keeping him close, but the need for air won out so they parted reluctantly. Their separation was short lived as she initiated their second kiss, capturing his mouth with fervent passion.

A soft moan escaped his throat for which he felt briefly ashamed but Molly’s breathy giggle and even firmer embrace set everything right. He rested his other hand on her thigh that was crossed toward him. She ghosted her tongue along his bottom lip and he moaned again allowing her to seek entrance and their tongues to glide and explore each other together. Their bodies pressed impossibly closer together as they continued to grip at each other, encouraged by years of pent-up sexual tension.

“Ahem!” the cabbie cleared his throat rather loudly. “Erm. This is as far as I can go I’m afraid. Police blocking off the road ahead.”

Sherlock and Molly broke apart and finally noticed the flashing blue lights all around. They exited the cab and Sherlock panicked for a moment that the cars and the ambulance were required at 221. Fortunately, it became obvious very quickly that they were most definitely at 219. 

Mrs. Hudson was on the sidewalk, crying into a handkerchief as a rather stiff-looking officer patted her shoulder. Molly rushed over to her immediately, ignoring the other officer’s protests of her interference. She hugged the older woman firmly, and made soothing noises.

Sherlock approached them slowly, and watched as a gurney was removed from the house. Mrs. Turner had been a rather old woman, and it was likely just her time to go.

The police and the ambulance soon cleared off, and Molly got Mrs. Hudson inside her flat with a bit of coaxing. Sherlock felt a bit helpless watching the whole thing. He stood in the foyer for a moment totally lost, but Molly gestured for him to follow.

“Sherlock, can you please put the kettle on? I’m going to get Mrs. Hudson settled.”

He did as he was asked and soon brought a tray out. Molly arranged Mrs. Hudson in her sitting room with a blanket and her tea, and sat with her for a few moments.

“Oh, goodness. We’ll have to plan the funeral,” Mrs. Hudson finally said with a sob. “And all these other things. I just don’t know if I can...” she broke down in tears again. Molly patted her back and made sure Mrs. Hudson didn’t spill her tea.

After a while, it seemed Mrs. Hudson cried herself out. Molly helped her get comfortable on the settee so she could “just rest her eyes” for a moment. She exited to the kitchen and Sherlock followed.

“Can you please ring John and Mary and let them know what’s happened? They don’t need to come by, but we should let them know. I’m going to look for Mrs. Hudson’s address book...” Molly poked around the stack of things on the kitchen work top, “Ah! Here it is. She mentioned Mrs. Turner had a son. I’ll ring him and then look for nearby funeral homes. All right?”

Sherlock could only look dumbfounded and watch her go to work. She spoke with Mrs. Turner’s son Anthony for quite a while, first consoling him and then informing him of what their next steps needed to be. It was all rather amazing to watch.

Eventually Molly stopped buzzing around tidying, and returned her attention to him. She smiled sadly and he wanted to pull her into his arms to brush it away.

“I should probably go,” she said after she’d folded the tea towel three times.

He couldn’t think of an excuse for her to stay – it didn’t seem appropriate to resume what he originally had in mind when they made their way up to 221B, and she didn’t seem keen now anyway. So when she began to walk out to the foyer his brain finally resumed normal operations.

“Molly,” he blurted out. She turned to him again, her face unreadable. “Thank you.” It was sort of a weak thing to say but he couldn’t think of anything else. She had done an amazing job with Mrs. Hudson. He held his breath as she stepped closer and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek.

“Good night, Sherlock.” She gave him a warm smile and let herself out.


	5. Mrs. Rose Turner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 25 June 1935 - 7 November 2014  
> Christ Church of England, Marylebone  
> Wednesday, 12th of November 2014

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This is where the explicit-bits happen*

The next few days were a whirlwind of funeral planning. Mrs. Turner’s last wishes were to be cremated, but requested a small service at her local church first.

Mrs. Hudson spent a lot of time with her herbal soothers, and Molly insisted on taking up the required tasks of contacting a funeral home and arranging the service. It was oddly comfortable having her around 221 Baker Street so much. They were rarely alone, however, with sympathy callers and Mrs. Turner’s family to greet and console. They even finally met “Mrs. Turner’s Married Ones” Arthur and Douglas, though briefly. Sherlock ached for it all to be over but he swallowed his usual contempt for people in general, knowing it would soon come to an end.

Molly arrived at 221 on the day of the ceremony promptly at 9am. She wore a tasteful black dress with a full skirt, black stockings and pumps, and a restrained black pillbox hat. Mary greeted her warmly, as did John. Sherlock suddenly felt like all eyes were on him so he just nodded at her and put on his coat. He and John gathered Mrs. Hudson from her flat and assisted her in entering one of the waiting hired cars. Molly and Mary rode with her, Sherlock and John joined Arthur and Douglas in the second car – as the tallest, Sherlock claimed the front seat while the other three squeezed in the back.

“How long have you two been married?” John asked Douglas who was in the middle.

“Ten years this past September.”

“Gosh, that’s quite a long time. Congratulations.”

“And you?” Douglas asked with a glance at John’s ring.

“Oh, Mary and I are still newlyweds. It’s six months next week.”

“Mary?” Douglas furrowed his brow.

“The rather pregnant one back there.” John gestured vaguely to the car behind them.

“Oh! Oh, gosh. Sorry, I just...never mind.” Douglas looked rather sheepishly away.

\--

The short drive to the church was mostly silent. Mrs. Hudson sniffed a bit and fussed over the other women. “Thank you both, by the way. For all you’ve done this week. And Molly dear, for taking care of me that first night.”

“Oh, don’t mention it, Mrs. Hudson. It was nothing.” Molly said patting her arm.

“There’s just one thing I don’t understand though.” Both Molly and Mary raised their eyebrows in question. “Yes, why were you and Sherlock coming back?”

“Wait, what?” Mary interjected.

“They just appeared as the ambulance was taking Mrs. Turner away. I didn’t think it odd until later.”

“But...I thought you _called_ Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson. And that’s why you left the wedding, Molly.” She stared at Molly who could only look down at her lap, unsure of what to admit to. “Molly,” she said again meaningfully, “What were you doing there?”

Molly took a deep breath and lifted her head to face them. “Sherlock and I sort of snuck out early.” Mary and Mrs. Hudson went wide-eyed for a moment. “I suppose we were sort of hoping for some...time alone.” The other women audibly gasped in unison.

“You don’t _mean_...” Mary said pointedly, trailing off to leave the insinuation floating in the air.

“Well...yes, I think so. The cab ride certainly indicated...something,” Molly admitted. Mary practically squealed with delight.

“But what does that mean?” Mrs. Hudson asked with concern, “Are you two an item now?”

“I don’t know, actually. Nothing ever happened because of...well...and it’s been a few days, and we haven’t even spoken really.”

“Oh, my gosh,” Mary said, sitting back in disbelief. “I had no idea...”

“Yes, well, I imagine Sherlock rather prefers it that way.” Mrs. Hudson provided thoughtfully. “He’s never one to show his hand, is he?”

“No, I suppose not,” Molly agreed.

\--

They all filed out of the cars and into the church. Arthur offered Mrs. Hudson his elbow and he and Douglas remind by her side, leaving Molly to follow behind. Sherlock quickly stepped to her side, offering her his arm. She gave him a soft smile as she took it and they ascended the steps. He tried not to pay attention to the way Mary clutched John and wordlessly indicated toward them.

Some of the pews were already filled with mourners. The Baker Street contingent sat in the first few rows with Mrs. Turner’s family. Her granddaughter, Jenny, was the first to stand and speak after the vicar. She gave a rather nice speech about spending time with her granny, and how she would always make her favourite biscuits. Then her son Anthony stood and said a few words about his mother. He focused on Mrs. Turner’s generosity and compassion, which made him choke up quite a bit.

Sherlock sat next to Molly the whole time and resisted the urge to hold her hand. He recited the periodic table of elements forwards and backwards, which got him through the first few speeches. He was considering reciting all the foreign alphabets he knew when Mrs. Hudson turned around.

“I’m supposed to...but I just...” she sobbed, holding out a piece of paper to Molly.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay.” Molly took the paper and patted Mrs. Hudson on the shoulder. “You want me to read it?” Mrs. Hudson just nodded.

Molly stood, walked to the altar and addressed the crowd. “I’m obviously _not_ Mrs. Hudson,” she began, “but she has asked me to read on her behalf. It is my understanding that Mrs. Turner was very fond of Lord Alfred Tennyson – both of them being from Somersby – and she had requested that this excerpt from his poem _In Memoriam A.H.H._ be recited as a message to us all today.”

Sherlock sat up straighter in his seat. He was usually captivated by Molly, and now more than ever. She spoke clearly and with poise, never once stumbling or stammering as she was sometimes wont to do.

“I envy not in any moods,

The captive void of noble rage,

The linnet born within the cage,

That never knew the summer woods:

 

I envy not the beast that takes

His license in the field of time,

Unfetter'd by the sense of crime,

To whom a conscience never wakes;

 

Nor, what may count itself as blest,

The heart that never plighted troth

But stagnates in the weed of sloth;

Nor any want-begotten rest.

 

I hold it true, whate'er befall;

I feel it, when I sorrow most;

'Tis better to have loved and lost

Than never to have loved at all.”

 

Sherlock swallowed thickly when she finished, suddenly realising his chest felt tight as well. Molly took her seat next to him again, smiling softly when their eyes met briefly. She turned her attention back to the front as the vicar said a few more words and eventually the six pallbearers lifted the casket.

The mourners all rose and Sherlock took her hand, suddenly worried she might slip away before he had another chance. Molly turned to look at him with surprise, but relaxed when their eyes met. She smiled softly again and led them out of the pew and down the aisle to join the others.

Arthur and Douglas had hold of Mrs. Hudson. John and Mary were arm-in-arm not far behind. Sherlock watched the five of them filter into the church’s adjoining hall for the wake. He looked at his fingers intertwined with Molly’s and he couldn’t contain himself any longer. He directed her quickly toward the main doors.

“Sherlock, where are you going?” John asked, catching them out.

“You go ahead, left something unfinished at Baker Street. Be back shortly.” Sherlock ushered Molly outside and hailed a passing cab.

“Sherlock, what’s going on? Is everything alright?” She asked concerned as the cab came to a stop.

“Everything is perfect, Molly. I’m just seizing the moment, as Mrs. Turner would have wanted.” He opened the door for her and they both climbed in.

\--

The ride was a fairly short one, and Sherlock held her hand the whole time. Whatever it was he had to do she was sure to learn of it in time. He pressed a large note into the cabbie’s hand as they pulled up to 221B again. He practically pulled her out of the taxi, on to the stoop and had the front door open in a flash. As soon as they were inside he whirled around and trapped her against the wall with his body.

“Sherlock! What’s going ah!” She started to question but was cut off when his lips found hers. His kiss was desperate and firm, and she couldn’t help but melt into it. Her fingers were soon in his hair and his arms wrapped around her waist, holding her close.

He palmed her torso, feeling every inch of her back and sides. She pressed herself against him as much as possible, suddenly just as desperate as he seemed. He withdrew his attention away from her mouth and trailed firm kisses along her jaw and to her ear where he suckled at the soft skin there.

“Sherlock,” she began again, more breathless than she realised. “What are we doing here?” Not that she was complaining, more seeking to understand this sudden burst of passion.

“Need you,” he whispered against her neck and let one hand trail up over her breast for a moment.

“Oh, God,” she moaned as he rubbed his thumb over her nipple, quickly hardening beneath the fabric of her dress.

“Can’t stand another second without you, Molly.” He straightened a bit to capture her mouth with his once more. He sucked at her bottom lip and grazed his tongue along it. She met his tongue with hers, exploring and gliding just as they had done last week. Except this time they had made it inside.

“I’m here, Sherlock. It’s okay.” Molly -suddenly wanting this to happen a little quicker - grabbed his hips and brought her pelvis up to his. She could feel his length beginning to harden already and she moved against him a few times. A desperate groan escaped his mouth, followed by a growl. He pulled away from kissing her for a moment to grab her arms and wrap them around his neck. Then he stooped down to grab her by the waist and picked her up. She instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist, holding most of her weight and losing one shoe in the process.

\--

He turned and easily climbed the stairs to his flat, resuming the kissing of her neck as he held her. He carried her through the always open kitchen door and straight into his bedroom, pausing briefly to close the door behind him - just in case. She kicked her other shoe off just as he set her down gently in the centre of the bed, her hat finally falling off and rolling away.

He trailed kisses down her body, over her clothes and settled himself between her legs. He slowly lifted up her skirt to discover her black stockings were thigh-highs held by a rather fetching lace garter belt. He popped his head up to look at her in surprise. She just grinned in response and bit her bottom lip coquettishly.

“Molly Hooper,” he said, rather impressed, and then planted passionate kisses to her inner thighs. He reached an arm up to stroke her breasts again and she squirmed and moaned under his attentions, especially when he kissed her stomach, just over where her black lace knickers began.

“Please, Sherlock,” she begged and gripped at what she could reach of him.

He thumbed the elastic at her hipbones, continuing to drink in her skin, before slipping her knickers to one side. She was already magnificently wet for him, but he couldn’t resist tasting her at least once. He licked a long, slow, stripe over her slit which made Molly keen and moan. He followed it up with more long, slow licks before concentrating on short suckles to her clit. She was so beautiful laying open for him. Just hearing her so enthralled in passion made his cock hard. It wasn’t long before she was squirming and shuttering, and calling his name as she came.

As soon as she fell back she pulled him up to her. She kissed him soundly, surely tasting herself on his tongue. Then her hands grappled at the waistband of his trousers, teasing his raging erection through the fabric before freeing it. She took his cock in hand, stroking him slowly and appreciatively a few times. He held himself up on his arms, trying to keep it together as long as possible, but Molly’s deft ministrations were going to undo him much too quickly.

He pulled away, standing up to rummage in his bedside table. He found the small foil packet and quickly had it open, and the condom rolled on. He slowed only to push her kickers aside again, settle himself between her legs and kiss her softly. He gazed into her eyes as he found her entrance and pushed slowly inside.

\--

They both sighed as he settled, and she hooked one leg behind his back as he began to slowly thrust in and out of her. There was a slight burn from how he stretched her, but she revelled in it. Soon there was nothing else in the world but the feel of him inside her. They breathed and moved together beautifully. She met each of his strokes with a tilt of her hips, finding the spot inside of her that sent shivers to her toes. She encouraged him to speed up by gripping her leg tighter around him and pushing into him harder.

He apparently received the message and soon sped up, holding her hips to meet his movements. If their previous vocalisations were restrained, they were no longer. She gasped and moaned while he grunted and growled above her. His stomach brushed her clit with each thrust and she was soon spilling over the edge to ecstasy again. He followed right behind with a few more thrusts and he froze as he reached his release with a final grunt.

\--

He collapsed on top of her, breathing heavily and enjoying the afterglow. It had been much too long since he’d last done that. He couldn’t even remember what the circumstances were, that led him to his previous release, but he really didn’t care knowing that Molly was the cause of his latest.

He picked his head up to look her in the eye when he’d regained the use of his body. She smiled sweetly and brushed his hair away from his forehead. He couldn’t resist kissing her again as he carefully slid out of her. They disengaged only so he could clean up.

Aside from Molly’s shoes and hat, they hadn’t managed to take any clothing off. She straightened her skirt and sat up on the bed to smooth her hair back. He tucked himself away before returning to offer her a hand. He kissed her again when she stood, holding her head in his hands and looking deeply into her eyes and grinning from ear to ear.

\--

She smiled unrestrainedly, still in a bit of disbelief at what had just transpired, but ecstatic about it regardless. “We should get back,” she said reluctantly.

“Must we?” He kissed her again. “I never want to be parted from you again, Molly.”

“You won’t be,” she gripped his shoulders and held him closely. “We have all the time in the world for this. But we must get back. Mrs. Hudson needs us,” she said with finality. He half-heartedly agreed and they made their way to the church once more.

 

The wake was still rolling along, but by the time they returned some guests had already left. John gave Sherlock and Molly a once-over when they entered. Neither cared very much, and Sherlock held on to her hand throughout the rest of the day. Their relationship was no longer a secret, and together they would deal with anything the world threw at them.


	6. Sherlock Holmes & Molly Hooper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saturday, 14th of March 2015 6pm  
> The Old Operating Theatre Museum & Garret, Southwark

Having to plan their own wedding turned out to be a rather enjoyable and relaxed affair. Sherlock took the lead on much of the organising, with a surprising amount of assistance from Mycroft it seemed. It wasn't that Molly didn't care for the planning, but she thought it rather secondary to the importance of their marriage. So she provided opinions on cake flavours and napkin fold, but never got caught up in the idea that it was solely “her” day and demanded perfection. In fact, Molly’s only demands were thus,

  1.        Sherlock must not deduce any guests out loud.
  2.        No murders or almost-murders allowed.
  3.        No one is to leave early.



 

On the day of the wedding, Molly and Sherlock woke up together at 221B like they had done nearly every day for the past four months. They had tea and toast in the kitchen, and Molly read the paper while Sherlock skimmed the blog for new cases. The less out-of-the-ordinary the day, the more relaxed they both would be about it.

At 3pm John and Mary showed up with baby Anne in tow. Molly cooed over the infant for a moment before turning her attentions to Sherlock.

“Time for me to get prettied up,” she smiled.

“Impossible,” he said kissing her forehead. “You’re already the most beautiful-”

“All right!” John interrupted. “We get it. Can you please keep it together until tonight?” Mary slapped his arm as a reprimand.

“Sorry, John.” Molly said sheepishly.

“Before we part, it is customary for an exchange of small gifts between spouses-to-be,” Sherlock declared.

“Which you know because I reminded you,” John interjected.

“Right, well, Molly, here is yours.” He handed her a small velvet box.

She opened it slowly, pushing back the tissue paper to reveal a beautiful charm in white gold shaped like an anatomically correct heart. “Oh, Sherlock! It’s beautiful!”

“I had mummy’s jeweller make it special. Our wedding date is engraved on the Superior Vena Carva.”

“Thank you, Sherlock. I love it. And appropriately, your gift is-"

"In the fridge-" he finished for her excitedly and kissed her quickly on the cheek. "I saw it last night. Molly it's perfect, thank you so much!"

"Wait, what is it?" Mary asked.

"I have a feeling you'll regret asking that in a moment." John provided.

"It's a human heart!" Sherlock was practically giddy.

“I rescind my inquiry,” Mary frowned.

“If only you could,” John retorted.

\--

Molly and Mary retreated upstairs where they would both get ready, while Sherlock, John and the baby went downstairs to visit with Mrs. Hudson.

“Oh, my boys!” she trilled when they walked into the kitchen, hugging them each in turn. Tears fell from the corners of her eyes but she quickly wiped them away. “I’m sorry, this is all just happening and changing. It’s hard to believe you’ve both moved on.”

“Eh? Mrs. Hudson you know Sherlock’s not going anywhere, and Molly moved in weeks ago. Once Anne gets a little older I’ll come ‘round more often.”

“Oh, that’s not what I...Never mind. Are you hungry, Sherlock? I can make your favourite! Egg and chips.”

“Has anyone ever told you, you have the diet of a 12-year-old?” John teased.

“How many times do I have to tell _you_ , my body is just a vessel?” Sherlock shot back.

“Oh stop it you too. And hand that beautiful baby over here!” Anne was passed to Mrs. Hudson and promptly fell asleep in her arms once they were all seated.

Sherlock tuned them both out as he forced himself to drink his tea and eat a few biscuits. He couldn’t seem to keep his fingers from drumming the table, or his leg from bouncing up and down.

\--

Molly was not usually one for taking a long time to get ready, and that was true on her wedding day as well. However, she and Mary did partake in some relaxing treatments (foot soak, facial, etc.) to help Molly remain calm. She was very much looking forward to being married to Sherlock, but being the centre of attention was neither of their favourite things. Mary was just looking forward to a little self-pampering.

Molly’s friend Meena arrived around half-four to help with the finishing touches, and Molly shortly heard the others climb the stairs to begin getting ready as well. Mycroft arrived well before 6pm with a fleet of black cars. The plan was that everyone else would go on ahead, and Molly and Sherlock would follow them. It had never been expressly stated, that Molly could recall, but it was implicitly agreed that they would not really be apart before the ceremony.

So once she was all put together, she waited until the last of them had left before coming downstairs. She could see Sherlock trying to do up his tie in front of the mirror over the fireplace. His brow was knotted and even from this distance she could tell his hands were shaking.

\--

He finally heard her heels on the hardwood floor when she walked into the sitting room. He whipped around to look at her and his face softened, even if the fear didn’t. She looked absolutely radiant in her floor-length antique pink gown. Her hair was down in loose curls falling over her shoulders.

“Molly,” he croaked, “you look...I mean, that is to say...You are so...umm...”

“Thank you, Sherlock. Do you want some help with that?” she replied, pointing to his neck. He just nodded in response. She closed the distance between them rather quickly.

After a few swift moves his tie was knotted and adjusted perfectly. She finally brought her gaze back up to his. He tried to smile, but was sure it wasn’t a convincing one. Her smile, on the other hand, was stunning. She took his hand in hers and he laced their fingers together. “We can still elope, you know,” she offered. “If you want to we can grab our bags right now and escape to wherever we want. Just like we said.”

He had to smile at that. She could always read him, even when he couldn’t read himself. “No, no. I wish we could, but no. We’ve come this far. Mycroft and Mummy would kill me. John would kill us both, and Mary-the-secret-former-assassin might _actually_ kill me.”

\----

THREE MONTHS PRIOR

Sherlock dragged Molly into New Scotland Yard just for a few moments to speak to Lestrade about an old case. She had only been there once or twice several years ago so Sherlock was leading her through the building.

When they took the stairs to the basement, and had to walk along a couple of narrow corridors. Molly looked around, trying to read any sign that could orient her. They passed by the replica of serial killer Dennis Nilsen’s kitchen and she finally spoke up, “Sherlock, where are we going? This seems an odd place for Greg’s office.”

“Greg? I don’t know who that is.”

“Shush, yes you do,” she chastised him gently and continued to follow.

He stopped abruptly in the next room, in front of a row of death masks and turned back to her. Molly looked around at the array of weapons adorning the walls and kept in low exhibition cases. “This is one of my favourite places in London,” he said with a small smile.

“It’s a museum?” she asked in clarification. “I didn’t know the Met had one.”

“Nor should you, really. It’s not open to the public. It’s only for training new recruits. I’ve been buttering up the curator for weeks to let us in.”

She finally turned back and smiled at him, “That’s so sweet. This is a lovely date, Sherlock.” She kissed him briefly on the cheek and turned to look at the case behind her. “So, what’s the coolest thing in here then?” When he didn’t respond right away she whipped back to make sure he hadn’t left her behind. In fact he hadn’t moved, except that he was now on one knee, with a tiny velvet box in his hand. Her mouth dropped open of its own accord. “Sherlock!”

“Molly, I know we haven’t technically been in a romantic relationship for very long. But John assures me that we have _known_ each other for long enough. And um, I’m _hoping_ that...well, if you thought that it was all right...that is, if you also thought it appropriate-”

“Yes!” she practically shouted, stepping forward to kiss him while he knelt. Happy tears formed in the corners of her eyes as he stood and finally put the beautiful antique diamond ring on her finger. When she looked at him again she could see he was similarly teary.

“I know it’s sudden, but I also know you’re not fond of being the centre of attention. So I thought, maybe, we could get married tomorrow. I know a registrar that will expedite everything,” he said, still rather nervous.

“That would be perfect!” she trilled and hugged him again.

“Ahem,” someone cleared their throat. They broke apart and finally noticed Lestrade leaning against the door jamb. “Someone said they saw you sneak down here. Congratulations, I suppose,” he said with a tight smile, focusing on Sherlock.

“Thank you, Greg,” Molly beamed.

“Molly, you know you’re my friend, but I’m sorry, I can’t let you two elope.”

“Yes, you can,” Sherlock snapped.

“No, I’m sorry, I can’t. I have to inform Mycroft. I promised.”

“Are you spying on me, Garrett?”

Lestrade narrowed his eyes at Sherlock and tapped at the screen of his phone pointedly. “Congratulations again,” he said before turning and walking away.

 

As punishment for almost eloping, Mycroft first black-listed Sherlock from obtaining any official certification, and from leaving the country entirely. Then, he began planning their wedding himself, insisting on inviting dignitaries befitting his position in the British Government. Sherlock almost had a knock-down drag-out fight with his older brother, but mummy intervened in time. Eventually Sherlock agreed to not elope, and Mycroft relented some of the planning to Sherlock, but still insisted on paying for everything. Secretly, Sherlock was almost touched at his brother’s gesture, but he knew Mycroft was just trying to one-up him. Sherlock was mostly pacified knowing Mycroft would thoroughly vet all vendors for past criminal activities. 

Molly of course, had no idea any of this had happened.

\------

A black cab was already waiting for them out front, having been arranged by Mycroft, conscious of the fact that Sherlock hated being chauffeured in government cars. They sat quite close together in the back, holding hands and occasionally fidgeting with their clothes. When the taxi came to a stop outside of the door to the museum they both took a deep breath before exiting the car. They stood, looking at the imposing bell tower of the Old Operating Theatre Museum, lit up from the inside.

“Ready?” he croaked, holding out his arm for her. When she took it, his fear melted a bit, and when she smiled, it disappeared completely. As long as she was smiling by his side, he could handle anything.

“Always,” she replied giving his arm an affectionate squeeze.

It was a fascinating building chock-full of equipment related to the history of pathology. In short, the absolute perfect place for their wedding. Mycroft had tried - and failed - to get Sherlock to pick a larger, more renowned venue like the Natural History Museum. So instead, he focused on making the Operating Theatre the most picturesque location as was possible. He spared no expense on the flowers, linens and other furnishings.

Molly and Sherlock stepped through the entry together, making their way up the tower’s spiral stairs, through the gift shop full of skulls and books, and up another flight stairs to where the museum actually began. They passed silently by the random flora and fauna in the Herb Garret – which had been rearranged to allow for a single, large table to be set up – and to the door of the Operating Theatre.

John and Mary greeted them and Mary handed Molly her bouquet. She adjusted Molly’s birdcage veil and placed a quick kiss on her cheek. John shook Sherlock’s hand and gave him a warm pat on the back before entering the theatre alone. The processional music – a beautiful violin duet - began and Sherlock took yet another deep breath. Mary followed behind John a moment later.

The photographer – fully vetted by both Mycroft and Sherlock for any criminal past – popped her head around the door and snuck a few quick shots of the couple collecting themselves before their entrance into the theatre.

Sherlock scowled but Molly giggled at being caught out, which immediately lightened his mood.

“This is lovely,” Molly said indicating the music. “I don’t recognise it. Who’s the composer?”

“Tell you later. Let’s get married first.”

They passed through the large door and into the main round of the theatre where John, Mary and Mycroft waited at the other end of the room. The horse-shoe seating above and around them was mostly empty. Only the first row was filled with the elite dozen guests who had been invited.

\----

TWO MONTHS PRIOR

John stepped into 221B with more than a little trepidation. He had almost flat-out refused to come over having not had any sleep to speak of in the past week. Anne had not yet developed a night routine, and the euphoria from after her birth was fading quickly now that she was home. But Sherlock had “Vatican Cameo’d” indicating that it was extremely important, and also promised it wouldn’t take more than an hour.

John could hear Sherlock puttering about in the kitchen, but the general tidiness of the flat caught him off-guard for a moment. He surveyed the room looking for clues to whatever case it was that needed his assistance, but found nothing out of the ordinary apart from there being no mess. So he turned his attention to the kitchen, and his best friend - who had apparently continued the tidy trend throughout the flat. He wondered if Molly wasn’t more than a little responsible for the sudden change.

“Hi, Sherlock,” he announced himself finally.

“John! You’re early.” Sherlock whipped around. “Uh, please. Sit.” He stiffly indicated to one of the chairs at the small table.

John sat as instructed and gave up trying to work out what the new case was. After a moment of more puttering at the counter, Sherlock set a tray in the middle of the table with a pot of tea and several plates of biscuits on it. “You asked me over for tea?” John asked in disbelief.

“Ummm, sort of.” Sherlock replied.

“Sherlock, I have a _newborn_. Mary needs me at home. I’ll come back for a visit in a few weeks, all right?”

“No, no. Sorry, that’s not all. Tea is just...extra. You don’t have to have the tea. Forget the damn tea, okay?” Sherlock was obviously agitated.

“Are you okay, Sherlock? Has something happened with Molly?” John kept his voice soft.

“No, no she’s fine. We’re fine. This is about you.” Sherlock relaxed a bit.

“Me? Am I in danger? Mary?! The baby?!”

“No! No! Everything’s fine, just let me talk for a moment for God’s sake!”

“Okay...” John tried to calm down, but knowing who Sherlock usually hung around with, he wasn’t completely mollified as a new father.

“John,” Sherlock said with a slight nod. “You once said that you counted me as...your...best...” he hesitated.

John suddenly realised why Sherlock was so nervous and what he had called him over to say. “Man?” John offered.

“Friend.” Sherlock finished at the same time.

John couldn’t help but grin, “Yes. You still are, mate.”

“Yes, well. Good. And as you say, ‘man.’ Will you serve as mine? Best Man, that is,” he said rather quickly.

“Of course, I will,” John stood up to shake his friend’s hand and give him a brief hug. “Won’t Mycroft be offended though? He _is_ your brother.”

“I’m counting on it,” Sherlock replied haughtily. “But he’ll no doubt appoint himself the officiant, what with being the British Government and all.”

“Of course he will,” John beamed. He could not have been prouder of the man who drove him completely mad at times.

\-----

Mycroft had indeed been a bit put-out when he heard John was Best Man. He could never claim to have the more genuine relationship with Sherlock, but he’d still sulk regardless. And he did appoint himself as officiant after that. Sherlock had agreed on the conditions that it be a very short ceremony of no more than five minutes, and Molly had final approval of the script. Sherlock made it clear he couldn’t give a toss what words were spoken as long as it resulted in being married to Molly. Mycroft desperately wanted to make fun of Sherlock’s admission but found something in himself to stop the insults before they began.

The processional music faded out and Mycroft opened the ceremony.

“Dear friends and family, we are gathered here today to witness and celebrate the union of William Sherlock Scott Holmes and Molly Victoria Hooper in marriage.

“This is a momentous occasion for the Holmes family who are not ones for overt signs of affection. In fact, the mere suggestion of having friends has, in the past, been a point of disdain for my brother and-”

“Stick to the script, Mycroft,” Sherlock hissed.

“Ah, yes. So today we celebrate their union ...which serves no real purpose other than a piece of paper on file,” he quickly whispered the last part under his breath just to annoy Sherlock.

Mycroft stuck to the script after that, using the proper declarative introduction. He had no ill feeling toward his new sister-in-law, but he didn’t want to upset her in the process of infuriating Sherlock. After all, he might need her assistance with something larger one day.

There was a brief moment when Molly’s sister Carrie did her reading of the excerpt from _The Prophet_ where he was able to look around at the guests again. Mummy and daddy where holding hands. Sherrinford hadn’t been able to get away from work in Crete. Mrs. Hudson and Mrs. Hooper doted on little Anne Watson who was starting to fuss in her carrier. Carrie’s husband Charles held his wife’s cardigan while she read. Molly’s friend Meena and Mike Stamford from Bart’s were the only odd ones out but they seemed unlikely to pair up what with Stamford being married and his wife simply unable to attend this evening. Oh, and well, Greg Lestrade and Mycroft himself were also solo.

Mycroft’s attention returned to the present when Carrie sat back down. He followed the script mindlessly introducing the exchange of vows and rings. He watched as his brother’s hands shook while his bride’s remained steady. He could only assume it had something to do with her surgical training and Sherlock’s lack of discipline.

“On behalf of the British Government I now declare you legally wed.” Mycroft intoned finally. He stepped to the side while they kissed to seal the union. He didn’t want the photographer to catch the face he couldn’t keep himself from pulling. _Sentiment_.

\--

The recessional music played – a more rousing violin duet this time – and everyone filed out of the theatre. A number of servers stood by to direct the small party to their seats and fetch drinks. John had to admit that now the ceremony was over, he was a bit nervous for his Best Man speech. At the same time, it made him a little nostalgic for his own wedding. Technically he and Mary were still newlyweds. It was a lovely thought that they’d celebrate their first anniversary with their daughter – who was being remarkably good this evening.

Soft music played in the background as the meal was served and it lulled Anne to sleep as soon as she was settled in her carrier between Mary and him. If this kept up she might make it through the whole party without using the quiet area that was specially set up – no doubt at Molly’s generous insistence. 

With a party of only 14 (and the baby), six sat comfortably on either side of the table, with one on each end. Sherlock and Molly sat in the centre of one of the long edges with Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, and Mrs. Hooper directly across. John sat on Sherlock’s other side, and Mary next to him. Molly’s sister sat immediately to her other side followed by her husband Charles. Mrs. Hudson sat on the end next to Mary, and Mike Stamford took the other far end. Meena claimed the remaining spot next to Mrs. Hooper, while Mycroft and Lestrade filled in between the Holmes’s and Mrs. Hudson’s end.

A short while after the main course of salmon and beef tips had been served and mostly consumed, Mycroft shot him a look across the table and he knew it was time. Mary, also catching the signal, squeezed his arm and whispered a good luck.

John took a deep breath and stood a little more shakily than he had anticipated. He was suddenly struck by how much resolve Sherlock would have had to muster to get through his speech last year. This is not as easy as it looked. He cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention, but it was hardly necessary as everyone had already stopped chatting and were looking in his direction.

“Uhh, good evening, ladies and gentleman, family and friends...well, all friends to me, really. And a few strangers too...I guess.” He immediately regretted not writing a proper introduction and thinking he could wing it. “Bloody hell, this is harder than I thought,” he whispered under his breath but of course the small table meant everyone could hear and a few giggled.

“Uh, right. So, Sherlock refused telegrams so you’ll be happy to know no one has to suffer through those. Although, I’m sure there are many who wish they could be here today, because, well, they would want to witness the Great Sherlock Holmes expressing genuine sentiment with their own eyes.” Lestrade and Mike both snorted with laughter at John and he smiled good-naturedly. Sherlock stared at the centrepiece which made John immediately feel a little guilty. Molly leaned into her new husband’s side and kissed his shoulder which seemed to soften him a bit. Well, at least his jaw wasn’t twitching.

“But no, I do want to say right from the start that I am floored by your transformation, Sherlock. I’m sure you all noticed the sign above them in the theatre as they exchanged vows. ‘Miseratione non Mercede’ I’m reliably informed from my A-level in Latin (and Google, if I’m honest) translates to ‘From Compassion, not for gain.’ I find this to be a very appropriate sentiment of your relationship built on genuine regard for one another, which both surprised and delighted me when it was revealed.

“I can’t think of a better word than ‘proud’ to describe how I feel seeing you and Molly together. I know the happiness you find in each other will last you all your lives. You could not have found a more compatible person to be your partner.” John had to pause for the enthusiastic applause from the other guests. And also before he choked up too much to speak. Sherlock shifted in his seat and John put a firm hand on his shoulder in understanding. His best friend may now be able to express his love for his wife, but that hadn’t spread to include anyone else yet.

“With that business out of the way, I now turn to the requisite humorous bits of the speech. I’m sure we’re all relieved to know that with Mycroft’s influence all of the staff here today has been cleared of having any murderous motive. Too bad you couldn’t have extended the courtesy for my wedding, mate.” The guests around the table giggled, well aware of the Mayfly Man tale. Mycroft responded with his patented insincere smile.

“That was just _one_ in a long line of ridiculous situations Sherlock has gotten me into. I’ll not mention the whole faked death thing. There was the time that he drugged me in a maximum security government facility we had snuck our way into. And the year before that he sent me to the countryside alone and he solved the case via Skype while starkers at home. I was then picked up via helicopter (thank you, Mycroft) and whisked to Buckingham Palace, where Sherlock still wasn’t wearing a stitch.” The table roared with laughter then. “And Molly, I don’t know if you’ve experienced this yet, but he used to come home brandishing random weapons and covered in dirt or blood – or both. I learned that the best thing to do is refuse to talk to him until he’s cleaned up or at least put the safety on.” Molly grinned while one corner of Sherlock’s mouth seemed to break free from his restraint and curled into a half-smile.

“Last year the night of my Stag-Do, I have to admit, I had a hand in derailing a bit. The Great Detective is not so great while three sheets to the wind. This was proven again at his Stag-Do last week when, with the help of Mycroft and Greg, we set up a crime scene scavenger-hunt. The difficulty came in that he had to be four drinks in before we revealed the first clue!” The guests laughed appropriately again. “It was another drink before each subsequent clue. We never did make it to fake dead body in the Thames. Greg tells me they had ten calls at the Met about that dummy before someone cleaned it up.”

“ _I_ cleaned it up!” Greg interjected and giggles and laughter escaped from everyone around the table.

“Molly, it only takes five minutes for people to know you are an angel among us mere mortals. It takes only five seconds if they’ve already met Sherlock and see how you handle him! You have a special gift that baffles me, but I clearly see it’s also why he loves you.

“Anyway, the truth is I would not be here today without my friend Sherlock. And Sherlock would not be here without Molly. So I count myself incredibly fortunate to be honouring you both tonight. May your love be never ending. To the bride and groom!” The other guests raised their glasses and echoed John’s toast, taking sips of their drinks and applauding as Sherlock kissed Molly quickly. When John sat back down, Sherlock patted him firmly on the shoulder. John knew exactly what he couldn’t express in words or further action.

\--

In addition to no telegrams they had also nixed the many speeches that were usually required. The wait staff wheeled out a two-tiered cake covered in smooth white icing, stopping just behind Molly and Sherlock. They both stood, each taking hold of the knife one of the staff offered, and cut a slice to share. After they shared another kiss for the photographer, the staff began cutting pieces for the other guests.

Molly returned to her seat and Sherlock remained standing then to briefly address the guests. “Molly and I would just like to thank you all for attending. Well, that’s not true, but never mind. Many of you know my history with leaving weddings early – or not going to events at all. Well, the nice thing is that this wedding is over when I say it is.”

“When _we_ say it is,” Molly interjected.

“Right. Anyway, Molly says that none of you can leave early. So please feel free to explore the museum further. This is one of Molly’s favourite places in London. We even have a docent on hand if you have any questions.”

He sat back down and the guests started to talk amongst themselves. After a minute Sherlock leaned over to his new wife. “I have an additional gift for you,” he whispered. She looked back at him in surprise and let herself be guided away from the table and back into the Operating Theatre. Sherlock fiddled with the small sound system that had been installed, and soon another violin composition wafted out of the speakers. He offered a hand to her, and they danced in the centre of the floor, his cheek pressed firmly to her temple.  

“This first dance is lovely, Sherlock. Thank you,” she said after a few moments.

“That’s not the whole gift,” he said quietly into her ear.

“What do you mean?”

“You asked me what the song was earlier. This one completes the set of three. They’re all for you, Molly.”

She pulled away slightly to look at him in surprise. “For me? ...You wrote them?” He nodded, not letting her stall in their movements around the floor. “And it’s you performing?” He nodded again. Her face scrunched a bit as she held back happy tears, “Thank you, Sherlock!” They kissed hard for a few seconds, still swaying to the slow melodious composition.

Only the click of a camera shutter brought them out of their embrace. They finally registered that a few others had followed them into the theatre, including the photographer who was happily snapping away. Soon the other couples joined in their swaying around the floor. Lestrade even offered his hand to Mrs. Hooper, who accepted for a short turn.

The soft music changed to more recognisable pieces, but played in the theatre all night while the party continued along. Mrs. Hudson was apparently content to babysit Anne and talk to the non-dancing guests. A few did take tours of the other parts of the museum. Sherlock held onto Molly as they caught their breath and refreshed with a few drinks. He looked around at their guests. Sentiment was decidedly not a disadvantage if it made him feel as content as this.

It took him a moment to register that something was off. It took him only half a second to catalogue where everyone was. _Molly: holding my hand. John and Mary: dancing. Mrs. Hudson, Mrs. Hooper and mummy: with Anne. Dad, Meena and Mike: discussing the herbs on display with the docent. Carrie and Charles: eating cake and looking at a case of phials. Lestrade: smoking outside. Wait staff: all accounted for. Mycroft: missing._

Sherlock set his glass down and kissed Molly’s cheek quickly. “Mycroft’s snuck out - that bastard. I’ll catch up to him and bring him back. Just a moment.”

He hurried out of the museum and to the hidden terrace area in the back of the museum. He was sure his brother would have had a car waiting in the back alley so he could make his early escape. However, that was not the sight that greeted him when he finally made it outside. Mycroft was there, and so was Lestrade – cigarette hastily tossed aside and still smouldering on the ground – their lips tangled in an epic battle for dominance, their hands keeping white-knuckle grips on the other’s clothes and body.

The noise of alarm escaped Sherlock’s throat before he knew it was happening. Both Mycroft and Lestrade whipped around to look at him, both also apparently terrified at being found out. Mycroft’s eyes could have drilled holes into Sherlock’s head, his gaze was so panicked and concerned.

No one spoke for quite some time but eventually Sherlock found himself smiling for no reason. He closed the distance between himself and the others, patting them both on the shoulders quickly before walking away silently and returning to his bride. When he told her what he had witnessed she first gasped and then grinned broadly.

The night finally ended a while later when Mycroft - standing much closer to Lestrade than he had ever been seen to do previously - instructed everyone to gather on the east side of London Bridge. Exactly one minute later, a huge fireworks display lit up Tower Bridge downstream. With every burst of sparks Sherlock whispered the chemicals required for making their colour in Molly’s ear. He caught his brother’s eye for a second before holding Molly closer.


	7. EPILOGUE

Around 2am Molly woke up in their bedroom at 221b, hearing soft scrapes and mumbles. She took a second to scrub at her face before walking out into the kitchen. Sherlock was hunched over his microscope at the table, obviously well into doing the experiments on the heart.

“We have all day tomorrow, and a few hours before we leave on Monday for Australia,” Molly said, apparently startling him.

His head had snapped up with her first word and now he just stared at her face. Molly smiled internally at the restraint he showed to not stare at her bare breasts, or her barely-covered-by-the-tiniest-pair-of-knickers-she-had-ever-seen bottom. She was not so restrained in observing his entirely naked form, raking her eyes over every inch of his body.

“Clean up and come back to bed,” she instructed with a coy smile. “It’s time for round three, husband.” She sauntered back to their room while Sherlock made a cacophony of sounds hastily putting everything away. 


End file.
